Into Your World
by iheartfireflies
Summary: It is the calm before the storm Harry knows is to come after the third task. As old friends become distant and untrustworthy, he must learn to move on from the sting of betrayal. Four others come into their powers in the shadows of war, and they must wade through a waring sea of Faery intrigue, old jealousies, shy romances, and the clash of ancient rules and modern expectations.
1. Prologue

When he looked back, even a month later, Harry found he had only scattered memories of the days that followed the third task and the terrors that had awaited him in Little Hangleton. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't banish the flashes of green light from behind his eyelids every time he closed eyes. The high-pitched, eery laugh of Voldemort still rang in his eyes in the stillness of the night. Nothing could erase the image of Cedric's dull, lifeless eyes that seemed to stare at him accusingly in his nightmares. It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more. The recollections he did have were very painful. The worst, perhaps, was the meeting with the Diggorys that took place the morning after he had been released.

They did not blame him for what had happened; on the contrary, both thanked him for returning Cedric's body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the meeting. Mrs. Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears. Harry couldn't help but disagree with the kindness the couple had shown him.

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower a week before the feast, and he dutifully began to pack that night, dreading the Leaving Feast. From what he had been able to gather, Dumbledore had spoken to the school that morning at breakfast. He had merely requested that they leave Harry alone, that nobody ask him questions or badger him to tell the story of what had happened in the maze. Most people, he noticed, were skirting him in the corridors, avoiding his eyes. Some whispered behind their hands as he passed. He guessed that many of them had believed Rita Skeeter's article about how disturbed and possibly dangerous he was. Perhaps they were formulating their own theories about how Cedric had died. What hurt most was how Ron and Hermione changed around him. Both seemed to sense the fragile string he seemed to barely be hanging onto. Ron avoided his eyes and seemed distant as the last days of Hogwarts trudged by, and Hermione could hardly be seen more than a few feet from him at any given point, her eyes watching his every movement.

Sighing, he looked around the empty dorm room. Dusky light filtered into the room as the sun began to set, and Harry finally managed to place the remaining of his possessions into his trunk, the lid coming down with a resounding thud and click as he locked it. That morning's issue of the Daily Prophet lay on his bed, the headline glaring up at him. _Harry Potter: The Next Dark Lord?_

It seemed the magical world was split between believing in Voldemort's return and thinking that Harry was an attention-seeking liar. Those who believed, however, were anything but kind to him; many bought into the belief that he would rise up to be the next Dark Lord should he vanquish Voldemort… which they inexplicably expected of him. The media was a torrent of angles and pleas and accusations and the whole thing made him nauseated.

"Hey Harry… the feast is about to start… Hermione and I are about to head down," said a stiff voice, and Harry tensed as he looked at his best friend, who still avoided his gaze and hadn't even stepped into the room. Biting his lip, he nodded and mumbled something about being down in a moment. Ron stepped away and quickly fled the awkward atmosphere. Harry sighed again, slipping on his robe and placing his wand into his pocket. Paranoia had already set in, and Harry was fearful he would end up like Mad-Eye Moody before the end of the summer. He exited his room and descended the stairs quickly, only to find the common room empty. His shoulders dropped and an ugly feeling twisted in his stomach. They hadn't waited. He had half-expected Ron to leave early, but he was surprised by the lack of Hermione's unrelenting gaze on him. He suspected she was studying him, but Harry desperately told himself that she was just worried for his safety as the number of suspicious and fearful glances thrown his way increased. Suddenly weary, he collapsed onto a nearby chair, looking out the window blankly. He tried not to think or feel for just a moment, hoping to collect himself before he had to face the rest of the school, who had surely all gathered in the Great Hall already.

Banging suddenly sounded from the staircase, and a tall, black-haired boy nearly fell over the last few steps. Harry recognized him instantly as one of the fifth years. Kris Li. "Get back here you wanker!" yelled a deep voice, and another tall boy with wild, curly hair bounded down the stairs. Kris laughed and took off, bursting through the door with the other boy hot on his heels. Harry watched with wide eyes as the portrait door slammed shut and the muffled voice of the Fat Lady yelling at them to slow down filtered through.

"Potter? What're you still doing down here?" asked another voice, and Harry turned back to the stairs to find another fifth year, the prefect AJ Kim, staring at him with surprisingly gentle eyes.

"Shouldn't you be at the feast?" continued the boy, approaching him, and Harry shrugged. "Come on then, you can walk with us… if Kris and Chan aren't dead yet."

AJ smiled at him when Harry froze, wondering why the older boy was being so nice to him. Even Fred, George, and Lee had been giving him odd looks lately, and Harry was quickly becoming tired of everyone being so distrustful of him. He jumped as a hand landed firmly on his shoulder and pushed him up and out of the chair, steering him towards the door. Harry followed wordlessly, the warm hand leaving as soon as they exited the common room. Kris and the other boy (Chanyeol Park, he assumed) were waiting, eyes looked in a rather intense staring contest. AJ cleared his throat after a few seconds of the boys refusing to look away from each other, and Chanyeol jumped, throwing them a rather wide smile. "About time!" he said, voice booming and resonating in the empty corridor.

"Yeah, just grabbing Potter so we can eat," said AJ easily, walking forward with Harry. He flushed slightly as the two taller boys looked at him curiously, but neither commented on his presence, choosing instead to talk quietly about what Harry assumed to be summer plans. They reached the Great Hall much sooner than Harry would have liked, and he stopped outside the doors, looking nervously at them. He again felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and looked up to see AJ gazing down at him sympathetically.

"I know it's hard," he said quietly, smiling at him. "But you'll be fine. Just pull through, okay?"

Harry gulped and nodded, smiling weakly at him. AJ ruffled his hair and joined Kris and Chanyeol, who had stopped as well and watched their interaction with small smiles as well. Chanyeol gave him a wave and large grin before the trio entered the Great Hall, talking boisterously amongst themselves.

Taking a deep breath, Harry entered the Great Hall and realized with a sinking feeling that that the usual decorations were missing. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House's colors for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teachers' table. Harry knew instantly that they were there as a mark of respect to Cedric.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him. Harry couldn't blame him; Moodys fear of attack was bound to have been increased by his ten-month imprisonment in his own trunk. Professor Karkaroff s chair was empty. Harry wondered, as he wandered down towards his yearmates, where Karkaroff was now, and whether Voldemort had caught up with him.

Madame Maxime was still there. She was sitting next to Hagrid. They were talking quietly together. Further along the table, sitting next to Professor McGonagall, was Snape. His eyes lingered on Harry for a moment as Harry looked at him. His expression was difficult to read. He looked as sour and unpleasant as ever. Harry continued to watch him, long after Snape had looked away, and again began to question whether the Headmaster's conviction that Snape was truly on their side was misplaced, and otherwise, what made him so convinced of the dark man's loyalty. Ron avoided his gaze as he sat down between Neville and Hermione, and Harry didn't bother trying to meet his eyes. He just wanted to get through what he was sure would be a terrible night and return to bed.

Dumbledore spoke gravely on behalf of Cedric and his character amidst the sniffles from the Hufflepuff table and of the dangers that were now approaching them. He spoke of caution and unity, and Harry noticed with surprise that Malfoy, who sat across the hall, was staring at him solemnly, no malice or disdain glaring from his gray eyes. The blond boy gave him a small nod and returned his attention to Dumbledore. Well, that was certainly different.

They stood and toasted Cedric, and Harry could barely remained composed, remembering the kind boy. It shouldn't have been him.

Soon, though, the feast continued, albeit more subdued than ever before, and the Gryfindors spoke quietly amongst themselves. "I'm sorry you have to go back to the Dursley's this summer… mum tried to get him to change his mind, but…"

"It's fine," said Harry, interrupting Ron with cheerfulness that he didn't quite feel. "It'll be okay… I'll see you all soon anyways, right?

"You'll write to me… right?" he asked, feeling a bit more desperate as Ron awkwardly stared at his food. He looked up and managed a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah, sure."


	2. Chapter 1

"Did you hear—"

"-She even stopped-"

"-Pathetic-"

"-Committed her-"

"I hear she-"

The small brunette ducked her head as she made her way down the crowded hallway, her eyes watering and limbs becoming heavy, heart beating wildly in distress. Her dance bag thudded dully against her thigh. Her tights and leotard did nothing to hide her emaciated form and her headphones did little against the hushed voices and thick judgement surrounding her as she walked to her first class of the day. Her eyes were trained on the floor, unable to meet the stares of her fellow classmates.

She was the first one in the studio, she noticed right away, the rest of her ballet class more interested in the latest gossip from the weekend and the return of Lacey Giverney.

Sliding her bag into the cubby hole, Lacey quickly set to warming up and stretching, her headphones still plugged in. She had long since turned off her music, allowing herself to be tortured instead by the floating voices of two hundred other ballerinas. Any reason to let the sixteen year fall was grasped tightly by the competitive girls, and Lacey, deep down, knew she deserved it. She had been told countless times, and had even told herself more than once.

_They all think you're pathetic, you know,_ came the same silvery voice that had been haunting her for over a year now.

Lacey had been scouted by the school when she was thirteen years old, and had been immediately placed into advanced classes as a freshman at the Isadora School of the Arts, causing quite the stir amongst the upperclassmen. People didn't just get put into the advanced classes; one had to audition and impress and charm the Dean and staff and alumni and _it simply was not done._

And Lacey, shy and quiet by nature, was quickly labeled as arrogant and a bitch when she spoke sparsely to the other dancers who tried to pry 'her secret into getting in so fast' from her. She danced. And she told them so. It hadn't been a very impressive answer, but was the only truth Lacey could think to tell them.

Three months. Three months of missed classes and practice time and time to speak to her teachers and tutorials and work outs. Three months of absence that clearly allowed for stories to spread. Three months for people to actually know the truth and let it fly.

More than enough time for the stories to evolve into nasty rumors.

More than enough time for her teachers to form their own judgements.

More than enough time for her self loathing to turn into hate.

_What a sad sight you are_, said the voice as she studied herself in the mirror. Sunken blue eyes blinked almost owlishly at the reflection that seemed to almost mock her. Long and thin limbs were stretched over each other, formally toned muscles stretching over bone and nothing more. _"Ugly."_

Lacey clamped her eyes shut and took a deep breath, remembering the words Nanna had said to her that morning. She was perfect just the way she was. The only way other's words could hurt her was if she let them. How easy that sounded. The voice was still there, and Lacey idly wondered how people dealt with hallucinations… she could barely deal with her own internal voice. Incessant. Sly. Harsh. Car horns from the busy street below and the chattering from the hallway added to the mix.

_Worthless. Pathetic. Pitiful. Inadequate. Imperfect._

"Shut up, shut up, shut up-" she chanted quietly, her hands pressed against her ears.

"Lacey, what're you doing?" said a voice behind her, curious, and Lacey jumped whipping around. The blonde girl blinked and smiled at her. "So what did the Dean say?"

"They're going to watch me closely… if they I cause a scandal for the school, they may have to ask me to leave," said Lacey, biting her lip and looking away from the sympathetic gaze of her cousin. Breanna had been one of few people to visit her in the hospital, and she would forever be grateful to her for trying to keep the thoughts and voices from consuming her.

The warning bell sounded, and Breanna said a quick goodbye before running down the hall to her own class. Others filed in, each pausing to glance at her with surprise and incredulity, as though they hadn't stared at her the minute she stepped into the building and whispered behind their hands about what they had supposedly heard was true. She didn't meet their eyes, however, instead looking at the floor as she continued to stretch, tendons tugging harshly as she tried to act as though nothing was wrong.

The scuffling of bags entering cubby-holes and slippers being pulled out of rosy pockets increased as the final bell shrieked, and the girls were quick to join Lacey in her stretching as their teacher, Madame Richard entered, her normally severe eyes unchanging as they rested for a brief moment on her. She soon began leading them through their warm-up, and Lacey was grateful that she didn't call attention to her and let her fall back into routine peacefully.

The lilting piano piece began and Lacey slowly followed the others, her muscles screaming in protest as she forced them to cooperate, but Lacey ignored the pain in favor of keeping up with her classmates. She wanted to be the best, and she couldn't do that holding back. No pain, no gain, as the cliche saying went.

"Bar," said Madame Richard curtly, the girls all filed over, lining up, and only a stern look to the girls crowding Lacey's usual spot allowed her to begin the sets of plies and tendues. Slow and steady. Bend. Graceful. Pliant. Arch.

"Again," came from the other side of the room, and the girls repeated the sequence. Point. Pretty. Breathe.

"Good," said Madame Richard, and the music changed to something with more energy and the girls began their degages. It didn't take long for Lacey's calves to begin burning, but she continued on, not allowing herself to falter. Her face burned at the exertion as the warm up continued and Lacey tortured her muscles into submission as she kept on. They lined up and Lacey flew with the other girls in familiar sequences of footwork and leaping. She pretended not to notice Madame Richard watching her closely as she tried to control her breathing; no one could know how difficult she found their simple warm up.

Arabesque. Promenade. Fondu. Dèveloppé. Slow. Pain. PAIN.

Lacey bit her lip as she brought her leg up into passé, her arms trembling. She wanted this to end. It had to end soon. No one could see her fall apart.

"You may all go get water now," said Madame Richard, her voice cutting through the music. Lacey forced herself to calmly arrange herself and walk over to her bag, taking large but slow sips, patting her face with a towel from her bag. "You are doing well for someone who has been absent for three months, Miss Giverny."

Lacey jumped at the raspy voice, flushing at the knowing look the ballet teacher gave her. Madame Richard was an imposing woman; tall with graceful, strong limbs. Her piercing gray eyes were the same shade as her hair, which was pulled into a neat, severe bun at the top of her head. She had always reminded Lacey of a bird of prey— a hawk, perhaps.

Class resumed after five minutes, with Lacey continuing to try and prove to herself that she hadn't fallen too far behind.

Two hours of ballet and then off to English. Lacey changed quickly and walked as quickly as she could, which wasn't very fast at all. In science people whispered as she handed her teacher a large stack of papers. In math, Breanna alternated between looking at her with sympathy and speaking cheerfully with her, and glaring at all of the chortling girls when Lacey couldn't answer the question on the board. Lacey learned how to tune out the mocking by the time lunch came around.

Scowling at the amount of food Nana had packed for her, she began to eat when the others stares began to burn into her. Her friends (really, they were Breanna's friends) chattered happily as they ate, a few of them looking at her with pity, but the rest trying to pretend that the last three months hadn't made them nearly forget the quiet girl.

Breanna accompanied Lacey to her lyrical class and left her with a hug and smile before taking off to continue to be a viola prodigy. Lacey envied her. She was too likable to be whispered about. Orchestra people were all nice to each other (they all had a common enemy in the director of music and her witch of a daughter, who was one of their main teachers) and wrapped up in themselves to care about others.

The dance department was a pit of jackals, and only the strongest could survive.

The lyrical teacher was not as kind as Madame Richard, immediately shrieking when she noticed Lacey in her class, running up and hugging the burning girl and asking how she was feeling and to just ask to rest if she became tired and _I know what you're going through, sweetheart._

Lacey was not inclined to believe that the air-headed Miss Bletely knew a thing about what she was going through, but nodded anyway to get the woman as far away from her as possible.

The warm-up was much less harsh than her ballet one, and soon they began a new exercise, citing that the girls didn't express enough emotion in their dancing, nor did they appreciate the impact it had in their performances.

"Sometimes I wonder about you girls," tsked Bletely, strolling over to the stereo.

"Margaret, front and center," she called, and the red-head stood from the back where the dancers had retreated. Lacey looked at her in envy, her limbs lithe and pretty and her waist tiny and stomach flat—

"And happiness, begin!" called Bletely, pressing play and snapping Lacey's attention away from her own thoughts. Margaret began to move, her face brightening up with a light grin as she moved across the floor, her steps light and moves flashy. Lacey bit her lip as she watched the girl move, her facial expressions perfect as she leapt.

"And— time!" said Bletely, calling out Bella and telling her to dance to 'jealousy' and played an intense violin piece. Her movements were sharp and face intense. Melanie danced to 'fear' and Tiffany to 'destruction' before Lacey's name was called.

"Hunger," called out Bletely, and Lacey froze, feeling as though she had been plunged into cold water. The blood drained from her face and she stared at the tall blonde woman who was staring at her eagerly, no doubt trying to either get her to 'let out her inner angst constructively' (as the shrink her mother wasted thousands of dollars on just to be told it was all in Lacey's head), or she was trying to embarrass her. The music sounded garbled, and all Lacey could see was the girls immediately coming alive, whispering to each other; she could hear the snide comments, their words drowning out everything but her racing heart and the voice that now screamed in her ear.

She flinched horribly as a hand clamped onto her shoulder, Bletely's concerned face swimming into view. Her lips moved, but Lacey couldn't hear a word… everything sounded as though she had been plunged into icy water. She backed away from Bletely, eyes wide and breathing uneven.

"-crazy-"

"-doesn't belong-"

_Fat._

_Ugly. _

_Worthless._

_Go on, give up,_ whispered the voice, and Lacey gasped. Everything went silent.

Glass rained in twinkling splinters around her.


	3. Chapter 2

"What the heck does she think she's wearing?" scoffed Macey, watching as Amanda Harris walked by their table, wearing boots from two years ago. "Does she really think we wouldn't notice?"

Carson hummed in agreement, wrinkling her nose at the girl's high pitched voice. Sleep had not come easily to her the night before, and she had been forced to use copious amounts of concealer to cover the bags that marred her face. Macey may have been one of her longest standing friends, but she had no qualms to admitting that the girl had become a real bitch since coming into her grandparent's fortune.

"Well, her dad did just get demoted last month," said Kelsey delicately, chewing on a grape with a rather fake pitying look on her face. Rolling her eyes, Carson continued to eat and look over the notes for her quiz next period; her parents promised to take her to Hawaii for the summer if she obtained straight A's for the semester, and she would be damned if she didn't get to spend her summer on sunny beaches and surrounded by washboard abs. She had no time for Macey and Kelsey's bitch-fits over the simplest fashion disasters.

"So how was your date with John last night?" asked Kelsey, smiling mischievously. "Did you finally- you know?" Carson froze at the question and then scowled. The bite from last night still stung, and she had spent most of the night crying into her pillow. She had truly thought he had been the one.

"No, we did not," bit out Carson. "We broke up. Apparently he found someone better."

"What?" gasped Macey, blinking rapidly in confusion. "Who the hell is better than you?"

"Don't know and don't care, I'm pretty sure he's been fucking around behind my back though," said Carson, stabbing at her salad. "Needless to say, when I find the bitch-"

"Oh hi Carson!" came a sweet voice that instantly sent Carson's already terrible mood on edge. Gritting her teeth, Carson turned and was rather mollified to see Evelyn Bates (the two, Carson was loathe to admit, had a rather cliched high school rivalry) standing with none other than John, who had his arm around Evelyn's waist and his head down. Well, wasn't that quaint.

"Hi Evelyn. What brings you here?" asked Carson pleasantly, feeling a headache coming on. Just what she needed.

"Not much, just came to say hi," replied Evelyn, just as pleasantly before pulling John forward a bit. "I just wanted you to meet my new boyfriend… you've met John before, right?"

"We've been acquainted," said Carson after a few tense seconds, turning away. "If you don't mind, I have a quiz to study for.

"It was nice to see you both though," she said, looking over her shoulder and paling at the the intense kiss being shared between the two. She could believe that Evelyn was pulling this sort of shit, but she was baffled as to why John was going along with it. The two had been a match made in heaven as far as she was concerned. He was the school's basketball captain, named during his sophomore year in an unprecedented move, and she was one of the stars of the swim and tennis teams. Both liked hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurants, and both enjoyed tacky horror films from the 80's. Why he had decided to jump ship over into Evelyn's evil clutches was beyond her; all she knew was that she was _pissed_.

"Do you mind?" snapped Kelsey, looking at the two in disgust and throwing a carrot at them. "Go on now, shoo!"

Evelyn pulled herself away (Carson could swear she heard a suctioning pop as they separated) and stared at them in mock-surprise, as though she had forgotten they were even still there. _This bitch…_

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, laughing and hanging off of John's arm. "We just get kinda caught up…"

"Yeah, I'll bet," said Kelsey derisively, rolling her eyes and glancing at the now fuming Carson.

She knew it. John had been acting strange in the last weeks of their relationship. He had been almost obscenely affectionate towards her and had bought her more gifts than she thought was necessary (and that was saying a lot… she _loved_ receiving gifts). He would never be able to hang out at the most random times, and had cancelled a few dates with her because _his father needed him to do yard work_ (never mind that they had a gardener). Now she knew. He had been cozying up to Evelyn.

"Anyways, we have to go… we have a date to plan for tonight… I'm thinking that random little Chinese place downtown, what do you think?" said Evelyn, and Carson clenched her jaw. That had been their Friday night date-spot. _Don't you dare you bitch…_ "And then maybe some… dessert, over at my place."

Carson felt her control snap as Evelyn's painted fingernail dug teasingly into John's pocket, and an almost gust of wind seemed to leave her body as she exhaled.

Then, Evelyn screamed.

She and John's skin began to turn an almost sickly green, scaly and cracked. She held her hands in front of her face in terror and screamed as boils began to erupt along her skin, covering her. Carson and the others watched in horror as Evelyn fell to the ground, hysterical, and John continued to yell, patting all around and trying to find the source for their sudden mutation. Carson could do nothing but watch as Kelsey ran to find a teacher and Macey held John from trying to gauge into his skin with dull nails.

The ringing in her ears, though, drowned all of that out.

Carson dumped her bag to the side of their foyer, shaking walking towards that kitchen where she knew her mother would be, more than likely trying to recreate some concoction she found on the FoodNetwork.

She was not, however, prepared to find her mother watching an owl with silent fear, a frying pan and broom in either hand and trained in full-on battle position. The kitchen was an absolute mess, vegetables and flour everywhere, and the owl watched her mother almost boredly.

"Carson!" hissed her mother, her mouth moving very little and her eyes only darting to glance at her as she stood stock-still, as though any sudden movement would set the bird off into a psychotic rage. This was just too much for the day, and Carson could feel a bubble of hysterical laugher rising out of her throat. She wanted to cry.

The bird suddenly rose from the counter and drifted to perch on a shocked Carson's shoulder in two lazy flaps of its tawny wings. Mrs. Hollingsworth squawked, the broom flying out of her hand as she yelled for Carson not to move. But Carson wasn't focused on her mother. She was more concerned with the heavy letter tied to the owl's leg.


End file.
